


Purity In Darkness

by torianmist



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve Angst, Tony Angst, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:18:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torianmist/pseuds/torianmist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Will you call him?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purity In Darkness

Life is a series of firsts. Of sights. Of sounds. Of the palette of emotional colors we create. Steve catalogs them all. As an artist it comes to him as easy as breathing. The sound of a life tearing, unearthly and shrieking as his world sets itself aflame. He hears the heavy drum of leather on tender flesh as he pounds his way through the broken glass of his heart. Sees twisted metal. Blackened gold with lifeless eyes. Hears heavy panting in an otherwise perfect silence. Knows it to be the agonized breath of an unrealized lover. Feels it in his bones. He feels his heart thumping in his chest, a terrified bird trying to break free. A staccato rhythm resonating to the chorus of Tony's silent plea. His memories slide: Tony lying at his feet, Repulsors hot but un-firing. Dark, fathomless eyes dulled with pain and resignation. A slash of red. Blood-wine spilled in a riot of agony across Tony's cheekbone. And anger, both his own and Tony's, white hot and uncontrollable as Steve brings down the shield in a killing blow. 

Death of a friendship. Death of a family. Death of a dream. 

Memories are all he has now. Slipping, falling. Skating on the ice covering his heart. The life in them, the love of them. All marred with a creeping vicious red and the thrumming, relentless dissonant beat of someone screaming his name.

Never forget, he will never forget. A mantra to live by. A rope to cling to. 

A whisper of displaced air. The muted scent of jasmine and a line of warmth slides down his back. Bookends of life sitting in the dried grass of a nowhere town. Natasha curls a small hand around his wrist as fingers sure and strong spin silver and chrome in the dying sun. 

A breath of inhale, her back connecting more fully with his and Steve waits. Knows what's coming. Knows the choice isn't his to make.

“Will you call him?”

The corona of fire on the horizon is muted now. Bruised and bleeding across the sky. Bruised like Tony's face. Bleeding like his own heart. Mottled thunderclouds calling to the storm in his soul. Steve feels Natasha own distress and need for atonement settle over him as cloak of disappointment when he lowers head, and feeling raw and broken whispers his reply to the wind.

“No.”

 

Tony walks the line between the pain of wakefulness and the nightmare of sleep. An intimate waltz of contrition and guilt. Of anger and betrayal. Exhaustion is an old friend. A lover he will never betray. He runs his fingertips in a slow and discordant path down windows that fall in glistening sheets. Chasing drops that have no hope of ending in a rainbow. The landscape of the city is a syncopated reflection of his emotions. The cool edge of glass a distraction from the edge of fear. From the panicking rush of grief curled alone and still, sitting heavy and thick under his rib cage. White hot and crystallized. His gaze is roving. Searching. Seeking anything to escape the encroaching gray slide into his own memories. His eye catches the falling arc of a weak and dying sun against a shadowed building and his heart stutters as his mind slips. His eyes slam closed and his slide to floor is nothing more than grace under pressure. Smears of color; yellow, black, sea foam green, all trailing brilliant silver wash Tony's vision. Pain, malevolent and cutting distorts the purple early evening light. A horizon carved from Carroll and a palette from Dali to match the metallic howl of anguish scorching through his body. A muted litany of pleas falling silently from numb lips:

"Not another. Please. Not another." 

The full body memory of a dull echoing thud of metal on earth and Tony swallows down a gasp.

"Please don't make me give another eulogy, Rhodes. Please. Not another eulogy."

A sob, harsh and grating escapes him as he remembers standing under skies gray and heavy with pain and fear. Rain misting against his face. Tears so soft, gentle as the hand on his shoulder. A new friend but already dear.

"Don't make me have to reach out with frozen fingers and accept another folded flag. I can't look out onto another sea of faceless people and have to talk through the shards of cut glass in my throat.” 

Tony curls his fingers tight. Bites down hard on his lip and the taste of copper sends him fully under. 

Sense memories. 

Sharp as the jagged edge of serrated iron to a vein. As vicious and visceral as a shield to a throat. Blood, crimson and thick against skin that is white and vital. Sin and Purity. The ragged ends of a bond broken. Of a life changed. Of the whisper of unspoken chances lost. Life choking on death like an exquisite Merlot. The smooth, circular edge of metal clutched in his hand. Tony forces his eyes open on a guttural cry, fingers releasing and shoving away. His eyes snag on the deep blue of approaching dusk. On the rivulets of water now cascading down glass. Nature malevolent in it's intent and Tony raises a hand to his face confused to find it as wet as the outside elements. His breath is forced from his lungs with the choking frisson of the first taste of freezing water in a desert heat. 

A shadow crouches over him and Tony startles violently. Pants heavily as he catches his breath and inhales deeply. Scents as familiar here as they were in that land of sand and death, pull him in and bring him home. Clean cotton, the faint hint of soap. Strong fingers slip around his wrist and a gentle litany of words, tried and true and as old as their friendship bring him back. 

'Anthony. Tony. You're home. I'm here. You're here. Breathe.' Fingers, blunt edged and soothing run through his hair. “Breathe, Tony. Anthony, breathe'. 

Tony takes a shaky breath, reaches his arms up around Rhodey's back and clings tightly. Moments pass in silence before Tony opens his eyes to silver and black, spinning and glinting on thick hardwood planks. A lifeline reflecting in the shadowed moonlight. He wipes his eyes on a broad shoulder and pushes gently back. 

Rhodey slides slowly and carefully down next to him, determination and resilience creasing his brow. Bumping his shoulder to Tony's he reaches out and ruffles the tangle of Tony's hair before directing his gaze to the spin of silver and asking quietly.

“Will you call him?”

Tony remembers eyes as dark as his own. Feels the touch of spun silk against his small fingers. Remembers being loved simply for being himself. Shivers as a phantom finger runs over his cheek and recalls whispered lullabies in a lyrical language he had yet to understand. Pulling his knees into his chest, he lays his head on them and feeling fragile and broken closes his eyes as he murmurs.

“No.”

**Author's Note:**

> The final twenty minutes of this movie stuck with me on such a visceral level. The imagery and the depth of it's connotations struck so deep that this story appeared as the only way out.


End file.
